


Stumbling in the Dark ('cause I can't find the light)

by Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Bronx SVU, Female-On-Male Rape, Gen, Male-on-Female Rape (case), Object Penetration-Mentioned, Police Brutality, Queens SVU, Rape, Tags will be updated, background case fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-19 08:54:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19971355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark/pseuds/Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark
Summary: When Carisi is attacked and raped, the he-said, she-said gets complicated for the detectives at the Manhattan SVU, especially when Carisi is accused of raping the same four sixteen year old girls that assaulted him.





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vomit warning.

~ * ~

It’s been a long week. Dominick Carisi is exhausted.

The cases have been difficult, with obscure clues and hard to find witnesses.

Something about child pornography just dries up the sources.

It doesn’t help that Carisi was elected to sort through over seven thousand images of exploited children with the TARU techs, marking down identifying characteristics and checking Jane-and-John Doe health and death records.

All he wants is to clean his brain, to go back to before he saw the pictures. Instead, he has to settle for dragging his butt back to his apartment, heating up some leftover manicotti his mom left him earlier, and trying not to fall asleep while he eats it quickly. He doesn’t even turn on any lights, letting the street lamps from outside illuminate his path to and from the kitchen and his couch, deep shadows braced on either side of him.

He keeps a blanket and pillow on the couch for the occasions he needs to sleep there—his bed often being too far when he’s too tired. But, one thing he never forgets to do is brush his teeth. His parents spent too much money making sure their kids had nice smiles for them to mess it up.

He’s glad, though, that he has tomorrow off. Benson had taken one look at his face and told him to come in Monday. Carisi doesn’t remember if he thanked her or not.

When he stands up to put the dishes in the sink, he stumbles. The room spins around, like he’s drunk or something, but Carisi hasn’t had time for a beer in the past three weeks. In fact, the manicotti is the only thing he’s eaten that didn’t come from a vending machine at work.

Every step he takes makes him feel worse—his head starts pounding and he can feel his stomach rejecting the food. He stops moving, trying to let the nausea pass.

One second he’s on his feet, swaying slightly as he swallows reflexively, letting some excess saliva dribble out of his mouth. The next, he’s face down on the floor, blood dripping from his nose and a split lip. He’s still drooling too, and suddenly he vomits, the angle forcing bile through his nose. It burns, choking him, and he struggles upright, only for the room to tilt sideways, pain slamming into him as he drops back to the floor.

Giggles. He hears giggles.

Something swipes over his mouth and nose and he gags on the perfume he can barely smell over the regurgitated manicotti.

His stomach flips and more vomit drips from his mouth.

He passes out between breaths, unconsciousness dropping on him like a stone.

He doesn’t fully awaken for a long time, but brief flashes of images, sensations strike him. A tongue here, a finger there. Faces, blurred beyond recognition, float around the edges of his vision.

He’s aware of a dull throb somewhere private, and he tries to fight the lethargy he feels pinning his body to a hard surface.

One hand manages to fly out, smack against something that squeals in anger, disbelief, and then a prick flares in the crook of his elbow, and he drifts away again, body sinking into numbness.

Cold. He’s cold when he finally comes back. He’s wrapped in a blanket—too small, pink—that does nothing for the sharp bite of the wind. Otherwise, he is naked.

What happened?

Confusion mars his mind—twisting and turning, hiding the information he seeks.

Voices. Voices all around, and a man leaning down to shake him.

He barely feels him, can’t find the words to say anything aside from, “Help.”

Next thing, bright lights, a man in a white coat, two women in flowered scrubs.

“Hospital?” he croaks out. They nod silently, and he curls on himself, hears someone start sobbing harshly. He doesn’t even know what’s been lost.

~ * ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to anyone who reads this story. I estimate it will be about eight chapters total, but the story is only half written, so we shall see. It will get worse before it gets better, so please, if you think I've forgotten any tags, please let me know.


	2. One

~ * ~

Olivia Benson gets the call at 7:30 a.m. on Friday morning.

Noah’s fussy, clinging to sleep, and it doesn’t help the poor kid any when her phone buzzes loudly.

She takes the call, shocked to hear Tommy Sullivan’s voice on the other end. He sounds frantic, spitting the name of the hospital and the room number at her.

“I’ll be right there,” she says, and Tommy thanks her. On autopilot, she calls Fin, tells him he’s in charge, tells him to tell Amaro and Rollins to behave. Then, she calls Dodds.

Dodds is surprisingly pleasant considering she’s bothering him so early, but he says he understands the situation and offers to contact a different borough’s unit to investigate.

“He’s my detective,” she says, noting the strange callousness she hears, wonders why it’s there. “I’d appreciate it,” she whispers, hoping it helps hide her tone. “I need to call my sitter. I’ll meet you at St. Mary’s with the other unit.”

Lucy picks up on the second ring, promises to be there in fifteen minutes. Noah, watching with dark eyes, stops fussing as Benson puts him back in his crib. She finds enough scattered clothes to pull on a decent outfit before Lucy arrives.

Too many instructions and too few kisses later and Benson is in a cab on her way to St. Mary’s.

Once in the hospital, she finds Tommy standing outside a partially closed door. Dr. Beresford, whom Benson hasn’t seen in years—not since his Doctors-Without-Borders trip nearly four years earlier—is with him.

“Look,” Tommy begins and Benson holds up a hand to stop him. “Really,” he persists, and she steps around him into the room.

Carisi is sitting on the bed, legs hanging off the side, open-backed gown loose on his body. There is an IV in his right elbow, another in his left hand. Saline and blood. His face is drawn and pale, and he looks ill. She sees spots of blood on his lap. It’s surreal, and she feels lightheaded.

“I shouldn’t be here,” she breathes and he glances up.

“Sarge,” he whispers, eyes dull and glazed but so full of pain. Benson feels a hand latch onto her shoulder. Beresford and Tommy both crowd into the room with them. Carisi seems to shrink, folding at the waist.

“Detective Benson,” Beresford says, and it’s his hand on Benson’s arm, grounding her. “Your detective was assaulted. He was also drugged. We’re running a blood test right now. But, you’re right, you shouldn’t be here.”

“Tommy,” Carisi says, “I told you not to call her. Why?”

“Relax,” Tommy says back, reaching out to pat awkwardly at Carisi’s hand. “She’s not here to investigate. She’s here to support you, like me.”

Carisi shakes his head, and Benson sees tears in his eyes. Before she can say anything—and she’s thankful for that small mercy, really—another man and woman step into the overcrowded room.

“Detectives Ramirez and Boyle. Bronx SVU,” the woman says, and Benson takes in her drab pantsuit and graying ponytail. The man is younger, with sandy hair, a pinched face, and a slightly wrinkled brown suit. “We need to speak to the victim alone.”

“Can Tommy stay?” Carisi asks quietly, without looking up. “Please? I don’t want to be alone right now.”

The Bronx detectives share a nod, and then Ramirez points at the door. Beresford and Benson leave. He rushes off with a hurried apology, and she returns to the waiting room where she finds Dodds pacing.

“How is he?” Dodds asks.

“Shaken up,” Benson says, sighing heavily. “His brother-in-law is staying with him for the detectives’ interview. Do we know anything about it or are we going to stay in the dark?”

“You’re not going to like what I have to tell you,” Dodds says, pointing toward a couple of empty chairs. Relieved, Benson drops into one. Tiredness weighs down her limbs. Benson checks her watch, and it’s only 8:30 a.m. It’s going to be a really long day. Dodds remains standing. “According to the taxi driver who brought him in early this morning, Carisi was naked except for a young girl’s blanket wrapped around his waist.

“He was bleeding anally, as well as from a few knife wounds on his thighs. He was so out of it when they brought him in, he couldn’t remember what had happened to him, or even that he’d been brought to a hospital.”

“Dr. Beresford did say he was drugged. They’re running a tox screen now.”

Benson covers her face with her hands, scrubs at her eyes, seeing again how small, how young, _how hurt_ Carisi had looked. Dodds touches her arm, and she forces a smile at him.

“I’ll keep you updated on his condition, but you should probably go home, be there for Noah.”

“Much as I want to, I think I have to stay for Carisi.”

“He’s got his brother-in-law.”

“Brother-in-law, yeah, but what about his sisters, his parents? There’s nothing in his jacket about familial deaths. Why aren’t they here? Why’d he only call Tommy?”

“That’s something you’ll have to ask Carisi. Go home, Benson. Get some rest. He’ll still be here.”

“I’m going to see him one more time before I go. Coming?” Dodds nods.

When they reach the room again, they find Tommy holding Carisi’s hand as a nurse changes out the blood IV for another saline drip. She leaves quickly once she’s done. Neither of the detectives is in sight. Carisi is silent, but his eyes are red-rimmed and there are tear tracks on his face. Tommy looks sad.

Dr. Beresford is back too. “We did a rape kit when he first came in. It was positive for vaginal fluid.”

Benson tries hard to school her features into something less than shocked. Beresford gives her a sympathetic frown, lets her know she failed. “I thought he presented with anal trauma?”

“He did, but we believe it’s because he was sodomized with an object rather than organically raped. No semen, no spermicide.”

“Sarge,” Carisi calls, and Benson turns back to him. He offers a wan smile, waving his hand toward the chairs against the wall. “I want you to sign some papers. Dr. Beresford thinks it’d be a good idea to have you act as my medical proxy.”

“Really?” She raises an eyebrow at Beresford, who shrugs. “Why?”

Tommy speaks up, “The detectives determined that Sonny was assaulted near his apartment. The blanket makes me think it was his upstairs neighbor. She’s sixteen. Bella took one look at the blanket and ran away, said she couldn’t handle it. So, uh, Sonny’s family is kinda close. Which means what Bella thinks is what they all think.”

“What Tommy’s saying is, I don’t know if my family’s gonna be here for me. I know you will. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have come when Tommy called you. I need you to be able to make decisions for me, if I get incapacitated.”

“And why would you be incapacitated?”

Carisi doesn’t answer, just looks down at his lap and folds his hands across the material.

Beresford hands Benson a clipboard and a pen, indicating where he wants her to sign. Carisi’s already signed, Benson notes, scribbling her signature quickly. Beresford signs and stamps it, notarizing it.

“I’ll get this to the hospital’s lawyers right now,” he says, taking the clipboard and hurrying off again.

“Where are the detectives?” Benson looks around the room, as if they could be hiding anywhere.

“They went to collect the rape kit and the blanket,” Tommy explains. “I’m sorry, Sonny, but I have to go to work now. I tried to get today off, but my boss says if I want to keep my promotion…” he trails off, and Carisi nods at him.

“Go on,” he says, “and thank you.”

“Any time,” Tommy says.

The silence when he leaves is positively screaming. Dodds clears his throat and Carisi jumps visibly.

“Manhattan SVU will not be involved in your case, but it will be up to you how much you share with them. For my part, I’d like to know more about your neighbor and why your brother-in-law thinks she did this.”

“Tommy’s not my brother-in-law yet. He’s my sister’s fiancé. My neighbor’s name is Sarah Varendale. She lives in the apartment above mine with her parents. I’ve seen her hang out with her friends on the fire escape with that blanket. I told the detectives that too.”

“Any other reason to think she was the one who assaulted you?”

Benson holds up a hand to Dodds, “Hang on. We’re not discussing Carisi’s case.”

“Wow,” Carisi mumbles, pulling himself back onto the bed and tugging the blanket haphazardly across his legs. “You can sign to be my proxy, but you can’t use my name. You have to call me by my last name.”

“Carisi,” she says, aware of the exasperation in her voice. Carisi refuses to look at her. “Sonny,” she tries, surprised when he grins suddenly, a flash of brightness before his face settles into the serious look she’s gotten so used to him having.

“Sonny,” she says again, glad it’s not choking her, not sure why it would. He smiles again, brief, but it’s there. The relief she feels at knowing he’s not too far gone is overwhelming and she sinks into a chair Dodds pushes nearer to the bed.

“Sarge,” Carisi says.

“Please,” she says, “Olivia.”

“Olivia,” he tries, mouth curling around the syllables. He shakes his head, “Sarge.”

“Yes, Sonny?”

He reaches out to her then, palm laying face up on the pillow next to his head. She places her hand in his, and he wraps his fingers loosely around hers.

“Thank you,” he says, simply. Then he lets go, turns on his side, and pretends to go to sleep. Benson takes the hint, ushering Dodds from the room.

Back in the waiting room, the Bronx detectives find them. “Sergeant Benson,” Ramirez says, and Benson nods, noting that they have large paper bags containing what she can only assume is the evidence from Carisi’s case.

“What can I do for you, Detective?”

“How long have you known Detective Carisi?”

“Uh, about six months.” She actually has to stop and think about it, counting the weeks, the cases. “He’s worked out nicely for us so far.”

“We were wondering if you knew anything about him that might be pertinent to this case.” Boyle, no nonsense. If Benson had to guess, she’d say Ramirez trained him. “Such as, dating history, current love interests, family problems.”

“Shouldn’t you have asked Carisi about that last one? And, why does it sound like you’re investigating _him_ as if _he_ assaulted someone else?”

Dodds’s phone goes off, and he excuses himself briefly.

“He was wrapped in a girl’s blanket, one his sister’s boyfriend identified as belonging to his sixteen-year-old neighbor,” Boyle continues.

“He conveniently forgot details of what happened,” Ramirez adds, and Benson clenches her fists to stop herself from popping the woman in the mouth.

“He was drugged; Dr. Beresford said they were running a tox report on him. He’s on two saline drips, for God’s sake!”

“Benson,” Dodds says, and something’s changed. He glares at her, and she stares back at him.

“You’ve got a case, but I’m inclined to kick it into yet another borough.”

“And why would you do that?”

Dodds swallows hard, and Benson feels her stomach drop. “Four girls came forward. They say Carisi raped them. One of them is Sarah Varendale.”

“Carisi’s neighbor.” The room spins, and Benson has to sit yet again. She puts a hand on her head, but that’s not what hurts. Dodds and the detectives stay where she left them, and she watches them converse for a short moment.

“Kick it,” she suddenly says, jumping to her feet. She pulls her phone out, already thumbing in her speed dial for Fin. “Until you need us, we’re going to be circling the wagons. Don’t forget,” she points at Boyle and Ramirez, “you’re investigating the rape of Dominick Carisi. Let the other borough investigate this claim against him.”

“Alleged rape of,” Boyle states, and Benson scoffs softly.

“I’ll be at my precinct if you need me.” She starts walking away, calling back over her shoulder, “Don’t talk to Carisi again until he has a lawyer.” Fin answers his phone, and Benson says to him, “We’ve got a problem.”

~ * ~

By the time she gets to the precinct, she has the preliminary results of Carisi’s toxicology report on her phone. A side effect, she thinks wryly, of being Carisi’s medical proxy. But, it could just be Carisi, himself, since he was the one to text her the pictures.

Dodds also sends her a reminder that she’s not working Carisi’s case. She responds with an affirmative answer.

Fin meets her on the steps, updates her on Queens swooping in and taking the four teenage girls to their precinct. He tells her no one talked to them after finding out why they were at Manhattan SVU.

“They claimed he was drunk,” Fin warns her. And just like that, Benson finds her headache back in full force. As soon as she’s in the bullpen, Amaro hands her a cup of coffee and returns to his desk. Rollins isn’t anywhere in sight, and Fin says she’s probably hiding in the women’s restroom.

“My office, five minutes,” she says, leaving Fin to round up the others while she emails Carisi’s tox report to herself and prints it out. She hands a copy to each of them when they enter in four minutes-twenty-five-seconds.

“Now, I’m sure Deputy Chief Dodds contacted you, but in case he hasn’t, here’s what we’re facing: Carisi was assaulted last night or early this morning. Bronx SVU has his case. We’re not to touch anything regarding the case as far as being detectives goes. If Carisi comes to you and talks to you, listen to him. Believe him.

“Additionally, four sixteen year old girls have accused Carisi of assaulting them. Queens SVU caught the case. Again, do not go anywhere near them. We’re not in the habit of intimidating anyone for accusing our friends and co-workers of crimes. We simply wait for the evidence to clear them.” She ignores Fin’s pointed eye-roll, thankful he’s behind Rollins and Amaro. She thinks, they’ve both been around too long.

“Sarge, what happens if Carisi is taken to trial and found guilty?” Rollins asks.

“We’ll deal with that bridge when we come to it.”

“I’m sorry, Olivia,” Rollins interrupts again. “What are we supposed to think? I mean, you didn’t see these girls. They were pretty shook up. Something happened to them.”

“I don’t know what to think right now,” Benson said. “Yes, we’ve got four sixteen year old girls claiming Carisi, drunk off his ass, entered their apartment and raped them, but we also have tox results on Carisi.”

She indicates the papers they’re all holding. She gives them a few minutes to read them.

Fin is the first to finish. “There’s no alcohol in his system,” he says. “He was dosed with THC, GHB, and rohypnol. There’s no way he was conscious for the assault.”

“All the more reason to question his version of events,” Rollins argues, and Benson stares at her in disbelief. “Look, all I’m saying is maybe Carisi’s not the guy we thought he was.”

“Amanda,” Fin says, “he was so out of it, I wouldn’t be surprised if he never remembers anything about that night.”

“Really, and absolutely no alcohol?” Rollins laughs, glancing at the paper again. “He’s hiding something. I just know it.”

“Your gut is what’s telling you not to trust Carisi,” Fin says, derisively. “Follow the evidence. Evidence,” he stresses, “is saying Carisi was raped by those girls. Not the other way around.”

“We’re not even working this case,” Benson reminds them. “Look, Carisi needs support. He was assaulted. But, we also can’t rule out the girls just because we think Carisi might not do something like that. Fin, those results can’t tell us _when_ he was dosed, only that he was. It could be that the cases are unrelated save for the fact that one of the girls is Carisi’s neighbor.”

“So, what?” Amaro finally speaks up. “So, Carisi has his own version of events, and you seem pretty inclined to believe him, Sarge. I mean, you just told us to believe him if he talks to us. You also seem to think he couldn’t have raped those girls. Fin, you too. If the girls had come to us first, would we even be having this discussion?”

“It’s an ugly question,” Benson agrees. “But it doesn’t change things. Carisi presented with anal trauma and vaginal fluid on his penis. They’re waiting on DNA from the fluid. We will have to wait for the girls’ statements to be public knowledge, which will only happen if it goes to trial.”

“How do we know so much about Carisi’s alleged rape?”

“Carisi’s outcry witness, his sister’s fiancé, Tommy Sullivan, called me. Carisi also made me his medical proxy.”

“So you’re invested to believe that he’s innocent.” Rollins laughs, and there’s an undercurrent of anger hiding in it.

“I’m inclined to believe Dr. Beresford,” Benson explains. “Dr. Beresford has treated many rape victims over the course of his medical career. So, when he tells me that Carisi was raped, I’m going to believe him. When Carisi tells me he’s been raped, I will believe him, too.”

“Has Carisi actually disclosed to you that he was raped?” Amaro asks. He looks unsettled, but his tone is neutral. Rollins, on the other hand, rolls her eyes, stiffens her shoulders, and huffs her breath a little every time they say Carisi’s name.

“He never specifically did,” Benson admits, “but he was aware enough to tell Tommy, and Tommy is the one who told me. He was questioned by detectives from the Bronx, but I wasn’t present. They didn’t seem to take long with him.”

“That’s not good,” Fin says.

“I think it’s because they got the call the girls were here.”

“Do we call Barba?” Amaro asks. Benson nods. “I’ll go do that.” He leaves the office, closing the door again.

“I guess now we wait,” Benson says. It’s not something she’s used to doing, knowing that there are cases they could be, should be, working on and instead they’re just sitting on their hands.

“Let us know if there’s anything we need to do,” Fin says, taking Rollins’s arm and leading her out with him.

Alone, Benson puts her head on her desk. This is a clusterfuck if ever one looked them in the face. It’s times like this she misses Cragen more than anything. Hell, she’d even take Munch back if it meant the beanpole would take charge.

~ * ~

Carisi is wide awake, and if he didn’t still have an IV stuck in his arm, he’d be pacing around the room, antsy and ready to go.

Just when he’s about to vibrate right out of his skin, a nurse comes in, quickly followed by Dr. Beresford. Beresford works on removing the IV while the nurse hands him a clipboard.

“Just sign here and you’re free to go.”

Beresford smiles benignly, and Carisi narrows his eyes at him. The nurse wheels the IV stand out the door, and Carisi waits until he can no longer hear the soft rattle of the wheels.

Then, he turns to Beresford. “I’m fine?”

“Well, you’ll be on some antibiotics for a good while, as well as an antiretroviral regiment.” At Carisi’s horrified look, Beresford hurries on, “Just until we can establish that none of your attackers were carrying HIV.”

“That does not make me feel better,” Carisi says slowly. He signs the paper though, and Beresford hands it to another nurse who appears and disappears without a sound.

“Here are your prescriptions, and your next checkup is in three days,” the doctor says. “Good luck, Dominick.”

“It’s Sonny,” Carisi tries, but Beresford is already on his way out the door.

If he’s free to go, he might as well go, Carisi decides. He finds his clothes folded neatly in a deep drawer of an armoire. Dressing quickly, he sends a silent thank you to Tommy for bringing them in.

The jeans are a little tight and it hurts when he buttons them. But the baggy sweatshirt over a black band t-shirt makes him feel a little more protected. It’s mid-spring, temps already well into the mid-fifties, so no coat. He’s not quite sure how he feels about that yet, wanting more layers but knowing he probably shouldn’t. Tommy forgot socks, though, so Carisi’s sneakers feel a bit weird.

He picks up the bag Beresford gave him, reaching inside to shake the bottles. He also finds an instruction sheet inside. He scans it and tucks it back in the bag.

Free to go, he reminds himself. One foot in front of the other.

He’s standing on the curb, trying to hail a taxi when two people he doesn’t know approach him.

A blonde and a redhead. One short and stocky, the other tall and thin. Long hair, short hair. Both women.

“Dominick Carisi?” the blonde asks.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

They exchange a look, and the bottom of Carisi’s stomach falls out. He turns and runs and they chase him.

They catch him when he takes a corner too sharp, feet skidding out from under him. The blonde sits on him, twisting his arms behind his back. She jerks on them when he hisses in pain.

“Hey, get offa me,” he tries, and she smacks the back of his head.

“Dominick Carisi, you’re under arrest for rape.”

“What? You’re cops?” He shakes his head, unsure if her blow made his ears stop working. “What rape? Hey, get off me!” he starts to roll, to turn over, and the redhead draws back her foot. Carisi sees it coming, starts rolling the other way, and her foot catches him solidly on the chin.

His head snaps back, and he’s unconscious even before she kicks him again.

~ * ~


	3. Two

~ * ~

Benson gets a call from Beresford before lunch.

“Just thought you’d like to know that Carisi was brought back in. Unconscious. Beaten. I need his medical proxy to sign off on some procedures to ensure there’s no internal bleeding.”

She doesn’t speed back to St. Mary’s—the downtown traffic is too thick for that—but the whole way there she keeps imagining the worst—blackened eyes, split lips, severe bruising all over his exposed flesh.

What she gets is a black bruise on his chin, split lip, broken nose, black eyes, and bruising with the shape of a pointed shoe on his side, right across a few ribs.

“He had a collapsed lung,” Beresford explains as he shoves forms for MRIs and CAT Scans under her nose for her to sign. “The detectives that brought him in said he fell.” Benson snaps her gaze onto him. “Yeah, I didn’t buy their story either. Your section chief, Dodds? He’s got uniforms canvassing for any surveillance.”

“Good. What’s going to happen now?”

Beresford doesn’t answer, pointing her into Carisi’s room instead.

Carisi is handcuffed to the bed.

“He ran,” one of the detectives, the short, stocky one with long blonde hair tied in a ponytail, says. Her makeup is smudged, and there’s a stray bruise on her cheek. Benson dismisses her, turning to her partner. Tall, thin, curled red hair.

“He refused to follow orders.” She won’t make eye contact with Benson, which makes her more suspicious of her. “He ran after we identified ourselves. He got what was needed to subdue him.”

“I highly doubt that,” Benson says stiffly. Carisi is still unconscious. “How can you put him in the hospital and then claim that it was necessary?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, Sergeant, but you’ve had a few suspects like that too.”

Benson doesn’t justify her with an answer. Instead, she turns to the blonde. “Get the cuffs off. He needs to be treated.”

The blonde quickly unlocks the cuff and Beresford swoops in to wheel Carisi away.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Benson says. “I’ll have your badges for this.”

Then she follows Beresford until he stops her in a waiting room just off Radiology. “I’ll come talk to you when we’re done.”

Benson sinks down, dropping her head into her hands. She needs a distraction, but with Carisi in the hospital, and the rape allegations following him, she doesn’t think she’ll find one.

Of course, the thing she wants to do most, she can’t. She cannot endanger her detective by being so reckless as to work his case, to help track down the potential video of his assault from the cops, of following the evidence all the way back to his neighbor and her friends.

Instead, she sits in a padded chair trying not to let her headache develop into a migraine.

She hasn’t heard anything from Beresford by the time she gives up and goes to get something to eat. She also takes the opportunity to stop in on Noah and Lucy.

Her little boy lights up when Lucy passes him to her, and she sets him on her hip while she slaps together a sandwich.

“Has he been good?” she asks. Lucy smiles and laughs while she picks up some of the toys that always seem to be scattered five minutes after Noah enters the room.

“Is he ever not good?” she counters as she straightens up.

Noah looks between them and beams. He still doesn’t talk, which worries the pediatrician, but Benson knows he’ll get there eventually. He already mumbles nonsensically, just not in the doctor’s office.

“No, he’s not,” Benson agrees. “I’m sorry, but I think I might need you for the rest of today too.”

“Yeah, okay. That’s cool. Okay if we head out to the park later? It’s such a beautiful day, and I know Noah likes the swing.”

“Sure. That should be fine. Update me later.” Benson’s phone rings. St. Mary’s. “I’ve got to go.” She kisses Noah’s head before passing him back to Lucy. “See you later.”

“Bye, Olivia.” Lucy makes Noah wave at her before she heads out, her half-eaten sandwich clutched in one hand, the phone in the other.

“This is Benson.”

~ * ~

Dodds enters the precinct like a ship on stormy weather. Amaro slaps his case file closed out of habit and sits up straighter.

“Where’s Benson?” Dodds demands.

“She’s acting as medical proxy for Carisi right now,” Amaro replies. He’s waiting on the call that tells them what the damage is this time.

With the wounds on his thighs, the anal trauma, and the drugging Carisi was already a mess. Whatever happened now has to have been bad. Benson’s acting like it’s her kid that’s back in the hospital. Amaro thanks God it’s not. Noah’s had a rough start in life. Carisi’s a big boy. He can handle a little assault.

A small voice in his head reminds him that any assault, no matter how “minor” is a major deal.

Amaro would guess that he’s a little angry at the way Benson has jumped to Carisi’s defense, but he also can’t deny that what he’s learned of the girls’—no major injuries, stories that are a little too clean on details—don’t match up with Carisi’s evidence-laden version of events.

Amaro has a friend in Queens SVU. There’s a report in his email detailing the cocktail of drugs discovered in Carisi’s blood also lacing the remnants of what Carisi had eaten when he got home.

They did recover semen from the girls, and DNA is running. On the vaginal fluid from Carisi too.

He isn’t going to kid himself. There’s a better chance that Carisi’s DNA will match the semen than any of the girls’ DNA match the fluid. If all four of them…If Carisi…Point is, contamination has occurred. The semen sample is from one donor.

Dodds grunts, breaking into Amaro’s thoughts, and stalks into Benson’s office. He settles behind her desk, angrily thumbing his phone.

He can wait like the rest of them.

The news won’t change.

Fin sits on the edge of Amaro’s desk, his cell phone against his ear.

“Uh huh. Got it. See you soon.”

Amaro resolutely does not engage. Fin makes a big show of flipping his phone shut and tucking it away.

He glances at Amaro without moving his head. “Queens cops beat Carisi so bad he got a concussion and a couple broken ribs.”

“He gonna be all right?”

Fin rolls his shoulders. “As all right as he can be. Liv’s letting Barba know about this shit storm. She wants to know if any Queens cops talk to us. Wants to know if they’re gonna be bragging about what they did or if they’re gonna try and pump us for information about Carisi.”

“You know, I think I’m beginning to think that the Sarge might have a point with us being on Carisi’s side. I mean, it’s pretty obvious none of the other precincts think he’s innocent.”

“You changing sides again, Amaro?”

“No. Just thinking. I can still do that, right?”

Fin nods at Dodds. “Just don’t let him catch you sitting on that fence.” Then he ambles back to his desk.

Amaro shakes his head. Fin’s an easy book to read but he still has a few pages that stick long enough to surprise. Amaro can’t tell if Fin’s trying to get him to fully commit to supporting Carisi or trying to scare him into the other camp.

He sighs. His friend in Queens will know more.

~ * ~

Rafael Barba is not having a great day. First, the coffee machine on his floor, in his office, no less, stopped working and no amount of coercion on his part could get Carmen to make another run to the coffee place on the corner.

Second, he’d received a call from Detective Amaro asking for advice on how to defend a potentially dirty cop.

The fact that the cop is Carisi is just the icing on his shitty day.

And then, before he’s even had a chance to glance over the preliminary evidence sent over by Amaro, he gets a call from Sergeant Benson herself. Apparently, Carisi now has a chance to sue NYPD for police brutality.

Another fucking candle.

And then, someone, lacking brains Barba is certain, sends him a video of the officers’ assault on Carisi, and assault it is. The bank across the street from the hospital had top notch cameras. He can even make out the horror in the blonde cop’s eyes when her partner won’t stop kicking Carisi even when he’s long unconscious. The quality is so clear that Barba can see when the ribs depress under Detective Samantha Burns’ pointy-toed shoe.

From the looks of that first kick, Carisi will be damn lucky to wake up with a broken jaw, and even more lucky if he wakes up at all.

He calls Benson back and tells her to set up a meeting with any and all officers involved.

She says, “Thank you,” and he tries to rub away the migraine building quickly.

Then he digs into Amaro’s evidence and wishes he hadn’t.

Carisi is being investigated for raping four sixteen year old girls, one of whom lives in the apartment above his.

Semen recovered from the girls. Statements all match.

Underneath that file, which is far more fleshed out than he was expecting or hoping to receive from Manhattan SVU, is another case file.

Bronx SVU this time.

Barba curses as his headache surges.

Carisi is accusing those same girls of raping him. Drugging him, cutting him, forcing him to do things he can’t even remember because he was so drugged he’d been mostly unconscious during the assault.

With the drugs in his system, someone definitely didn’t want him to remember anything about that night.

Barba sighs. According to the time stamp on the detectives’ notes, Bronx SVU started investigating first. Queens is coming in hard and fast. They must think they have something.

Or someone’s pressuring them.

He needs to find out where he stands on this. What he can and cannot do. The smart thing would be to recuse himself before either case goes to trial.

Well, if he is going to let some other prosecutor handle Carisi’s cases, the least he can do is offer his services as a consultant if either side comes to him.

He lifts Bronx’s report, studying it. Deep lacerations on Carisi’s thighs. He’d required a blood transfusion. Anal trauma, tears and bleeding. Something had been inserted and none too gently either. Vaginal fluid on his penis. Scratches on his chest and back.

So many injuries.

He trades Bronx for Queens.

No injuries on the girls. Not even bruises. And no vaginal tearing.

They all claim they tried to fight him off, kicking, scratching, struggling.

There should at least be defensive wounds on their bodies.

There’s nothing.

A torn fingernail on one girl. Recovered from Carisi’s stomach, lodged in the deepest scratch there.

Carisi might actually have a case.

Barba just might have to head out to the hospital to tell him that.

For now, he definitely has a case for excessive force against Queens.

~ * ~

Carisi wakes up when a door slams. He gasps for breath, too aware of how there should be pain but isn’t.

Morphine is a hell of a drug.

He just lies there, waiting for the pleasant numbness to wear off, for the deep ache of his bones to reawaken, for the pull of his stitches to burn, for his jaw to…

His jaw is wired shut.

Carisi raises a hand to touch it, and finds his can’t move his hand.

Morphine takes away pain. It also dulls the senses, so his panic doesn’t rise as much as it should. Still, he manages to lift his head to stare down at where a metal cuff links his wrist to the side rail of his bed.

“Wha…?” His voice cracks, unused, dry throat, wired jaw.

He tries to move his hand, and again he fails.

It doesn’t connect that his other hand should be free. Instead, he focuses on his bound hand.

“Jesus,” someone says, and Carisi rolls his head to stare at the doorway. Amaro. “I knew they said it was bad. I just hadn’t realized.”

“Hey, Nick,” Carisi says. Or at least, he would have, except his throat is still drier than a cornfield going through drought and his jaw is wired shut. It comes out so garbled that he might as well as have not spoken.

Amaro winces in sympathy. “So, that’s gonna leave a mark.”

Carisi snorts, regretting it when the pain that he previously couldn’t feel begins surging up his body.

The morphine must be wearing off.

Amaro studies him with a worried expression. “You okay?”

Carisi jerks his cuffed hand, and Amaro nods.

“Yeah, okay. I get it. Look,” he leans closer, “Carisi, you don’t have to do this alone. Benson’s got your back.”

_And what about you?_ Carisi tries to ask. He knows Benson has his back because she can’t see past the fact that he’s a victim. Amaro, though, never liked him. Carisi had thought they were getting better, but he’s got to have heard about the rape charges against him. There’s no way Amaro’s going to take the word of someone he despises over four potential victims.

Hot tears leak down his face, pain, shame, fear, all mixed together as he waits for Amaro to do something, anything.

Amaro sighs. “Look, I gotta admit, I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to openly show support of you. I mean, what really happened? Do you know?”

Carisi had heard the doctor’s report to Benson. He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t ever remember enough to have nightmares. It also means he can’t dispute a single thing the girls say.

If they say they sliced up his legs, trying to cut off his dick ‘cause he wouldn’t stop raping them, he can’t say otherwise. He doesn’t know why they did cut him like that. Except maybe they really were trying to incapacitate him.

Oh god, what if he really did rape them?

“Hey, Carisi, what are you thinking about?” Amaro reaches across him to lift a cup off the table on the opposite side of the bed. He uses a plastic spoon to dig out a couple of ice chips and shovel them into Carisi’s mouth, careful of the wire wrapped around his jaw.

The blessed coolness lasts long enough to moisten his mouth. “Do you think I hurt those girls?” he asks.

Amaro’s face blanks but he gently feeds Carisi a few more ice chips.

“I don’t know what I think,” he finally says, setting the cup down. “Look, Carisi, we’re not working your case. I don’t have all the facts yet, all the evidence.”

“But?”

“But,” Amaro blows out a deep breath, “the girls’ stories are too perfect. It’s been proven that you were drugged. You have wounds, lots of them. The girls have nothing. I’m not going to say you’ve got a good chance at getting the charges dismissed, but you have a leg to stand on.”

“But you don’t know if you believe me,” Carisi says. “Thanks for the honesty.”

“Hey, it’s not like that,” Amaro insists.

“It is, though.” Fire licks up Carisi’s legs, tracing over his stomach, and pushing into his ribs. His jaw protests when he opens his mouth again. “I don’t blame you if you distance yourself. It’s a smart idea anyway.”

Then, as much as his body doesn’t want to, Carisi forces himself to roll onto his side, curled over the arm shackled to the rail.

Amaro takes the hint rather quickly, his footsteps fading, replaced by a buzzing sound as Carisi’s injuries reignite fully, screaming with the fury of a thousand shards of glass worked under his skin and deep into his muscles.

He blindly flops his hand out, smacking it against the call button. He needs more morphine. Maybe it’ll numb him enough to stop his brain.

Because, no matter how much he knows it isn’t true, he can’t stop thinking about the what-ifs of last night.

~ * ~

Fin isn’t one to impose his beliefs on others. He just says what needs to be said and moves on. It’s everyone else who gets all hung up on trying to persuade or change people’s minds.

He’s been called laid back a few times. Munch knew better though. Could see the anger and disgust that hides beneath the surface. And Munch wasn’t the only conspiracy theorist in the squad. Fin’s been known to throw out a wild theory every now and again.

Right now, looking at the copies of both redacted cases that Bronx and Queens have been so kind as to share, Fin’s wild theory is that Carisi never raped those girls. They raped him, why Fin doesn’t know. Probably something stupid like a pregnancy pact. Those are still a thing, right?

Anyway. The evidence, of which Liv’s been so adamant that they follow, points to Carisi being drugged, raped, sliced and diced, and tossed out on the street for good measure.

Now, whether it was his upstairs neighbor and her little cronies remains to be seen, but Fin would put money down right now if someone offered him bets on it.

The fact that the girls have turned around to accuse Carisi of rape seems a tad over-suspicious, but he’s not Queens or Bronx. Those precincts will have to figure out where they stand and what the evidence really says.

For now, Fin needs to find his partner and see if he can’t round up some cases to distract her.

Amanda’s taking Carisi’s accusations as more than just a coworker in trouble. If Fin didn’t know any better, he’d say she’s feeling downright betrayed by Carisi.

He doesn’t blame her, but he doesn’t not fault her either.

After all, the guy ended up in the hospital twice in the span of less than twelve hours.

Something’s gotta give.

He catches up to Amanda at the coffee stand about a block down from the precinct.

“So, why’d you hunt me down?” she asks when they’re back at the empty precinct. Amaro's gone off for a long lunch, and Dodds finally got tired of waiting for Benson and went to track her down at the hospital.

“I just wanted to see how you’re doing,” Fin says.

“Yeah? Sure you didn’t just want to figure out where I stand on this whole Carisi issue?”

“You are entitled to your own opinion.”

“Yeah, as long as it’s not different from you or Benson, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, do we really think Carisi is innocent?” Amanda’s fingers twitch around her coffee cup.

“The evidence—”

“Fuck the evidence! Just stop for a second and think. Why would these girls accuse him of rape? Huh? What did Carisi do to them?”

“Okay, you’re angry.”

“Damn straight. Why do we really think that Carisi is innocent? Is it because we know him? Because we think he’d never do something like this? We don’t _know_ him. Not well.”

“Okay, so you’re going to think he did rape those girls just because you do know him but not well?”

Amanda shrugs. She takes a sip from her coffee, but it looks like a cover, a poorly practiced move designed to draw attention away from the fact that she hasn’t answered, but only accentuates the fact that her hand is shaking.

“Well, the evidence points squarely at those girls. The semen recovered from them is from Carisi, I don’t doubt that. What I do doubt is their story. Carisi was drugged and yet he managed to climb up to their apartment and—”

“I’m not changing my mind. Stop trying.”

Amanda tosses her half-full cup in the trash and determinedly stabs at the keys of her computer. Fin takes the hint and leaves her alone.

He settles back at his desk, pulling up the case that they’re not supposed to be working. Amaro has many friends in varied places, and his contacts are good. Queens has nothing on Carisi. They weren’t even able to take him in properly before Detective Burns hauled off on him.

The girls’ statements have been excluded from this version of the report, but Fin can guess what would have been here.

He wishes he knew for sure if Carisi was assaulted in his apartment or his neighbor’s. He’s sure Bronx has narrowed a crime scene already.

Maybe he can ask the detectives for an update. Or get Amaro to lean on his contacts for some good information.

The blanket has to be key. Otherwise why would it be mentioned?

And why even give the blanket to Carisi? To stem the bleeding?

You don’t cut someone like Carisi was cut and then try to stop the bleeding.

You cut them so they die. You cut them so they stop attacking you.

You cut them so they die and can’t dispute your story when you claim _they_ attacked _you_.

Carisi was supposed to die.

Fin almost physically rears back with the realization.

So why didn’t he?

How did he survive?

…Which one of the girls didn’t want to kill him?

And is she willing to turn on her collaborators?

~ * ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure there are plotholes as much of this was written over 4 years ago. I am doing my best to fix them as I go, but if one pops up, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's taken a chance on this story.


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